“Vivian is focused on making the least amount of change that she can to get by.” Standing, he worked off his restless energy by pacing to the glass balcony doors. “Hell if I know why. But that’s not how to run a profitable business that will remain stable for the foreseeable future.”
He saw logical understanding in her eyes but not the spark of passion he hoped for. He found himself wanting her to understand, needing her to understand. “Modern designs are great. Any willing designer can make those changes.” His pacing picked up speed. “But I want a whole new approach—something different, a big splash to make us stand out from the crowd.”
Halting, he found himself across the room from her. She sat at the table, her hands folded loosely on the smooth black top. His mind filled with an image of her dressed in lace and pearls for her wedding day, the epitome of elegance.
He mused aloud. “Most women shopping for their weddings already associate Eternity Designs’s brand with their big day. Why not expand their thinking to their wedding night, too?”
She shifted. Fear battled with a growing interest in her eyes.
Suddenly he stepped forward, approaching her at a slow stalk. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. He circled around, pausing behind her. The sweet scent of vanilla swirled in the air. Her personal scent. His gaze branded her at the vulnerable base of her neck.
“Think about it, Ziara—” Just like he was. “There you are, preparing to put on the dress of your dreams. What do you wear underneath it?”
Leaning forward, he caged her in with an arm on each side. The glimpse of her face lured him to push her further. “Do you want to squeeze into a too-tight piece of Lycra? Itchy lace? Ugly beige?”
Her brows drew together over her now-closed eyes. Following his body’s instincts, he lowered his voice, hoping to evoke the images in her mind.
“Or would you rather stand before the mirror in something just as sexy and beautiful as your dress, confident that your husband-to-be will be just as happy when your dress comes off as when he sees you walking down that aisle?”
He shifted closer, his own mind exploding with visions of her in flaming red satin, dark purple silk and then nothing at all. He barely covered a groan.
“Think about a silky smooth body shaper trimmed in soft lace, the same cream color as the dress. No ugly stitching and oxygen-stealing constriction. A strapless bra the perfect shape for your dress’s neckline, with smooth, shaped cups and peekaboo netting.”
A grimace twisted her lips.
“What was that?” he whispered, speaking very close to her right ear. Shivers raced across her skin.
“Nothing,” she said, but her voice choked on its way out.
“Ah, methinks the lady has a small problem with sensual...”
Her breath paused just as he did.
“...clothes.”
With a whoosh, she started to breathe again. Dangerous territory, his mind whispered. She wasn’t just resisting because of Vivian—she shied away because something was making her uneasy. Why was a woman whose home was filled with color and spice afraid of the same when she was in his presence?
“You know what?” he asked, backing away as a plan took shape in his brain.
He circled around to stand beside her. Though what came next would probably be the last thing on her agenda, he refused to ask. Only demand. He wanted to know why. “We’ll perform a little experiment.”
“Experiment?” Her high-pitched squeak sent a hot flush through him.
“Yep, time for a field trip.” He grabbed her hand, urging her to her feet when she would have resisted. “Let’s go.”
Oh, this situation had just escalated from bad idea to worse.
The elevator offered her no protection from his probing gaze. She shifted from foot to foot, as if she was a naughty schoolgirl on her way to the principal’s office.
He took advantage of their isolation to push her a little further. “Why are you so judgmental of the lingerie idea? Is it the notion of change or the lingerie itself?”
She kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the numbers marking their downward journey. “I’m simply worried about my job,” she said. “Vivian would not appreciate having Eternity Designs associated with...that...”
“Ah, so it’s the lingerie itself.”
“What?” she asked with a gasp, only to look at him and catch his satisfied grin. “I did not say that.”
The grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”
He didn’t speak again, but instead let the silence build until she rushed to fill it. “I think it’s just, you know.” Her hand gestured toward her body in an awkward jerk.
“I don’t know. What?” He drew the word out.
“It just seems dirty.”
“Seen a lot of it, have you?”
Ziara gave a simple shrug of her shoulders, but the red that rushed up her chest and into her cheeks told a whole different story. And had him licking his lips.
“Obviously not,” he said as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “It’s time for your education.”
* * *
Ziara struggled not to choke on her hot embarrassment as she stood beside Sloan. Not even her Indian heritage could hide this blush.
Around my mom’s house, I saw it all the time. But she wasn’t about to detail her mother’s favorite business wear. That woman had never made a secret of what she did for a living—at home or away from it.
Ziara followed Sloan at a trot as he strode through the bustling indoor avenues that traversed the ground floor of their hotel. At first she suspected they were heading for the casino floor with its scantily clad waitresses or even another show. Instead, they silently traveled quite a distance to an indoor promenade fashioned as a replica of a high-end Parisian shopping district lined with quaint, expensive little shops.
Now they stood facing one and she was deathly afraid of what he would demand next.
A lingerie store.
If he expected her to tour a place like that with him at her side, the heat might rise to explosive temperatures. Tremors radiated from her thighs to her calves. It could have been the fast pace of the walk, but she suspected it was dread of what loomed on her horizon.
Sloan made no immediate demands. Instead, he planted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest and studied the delicate ironwork framing the front windows. “What do you see, Ziara?”
The stuff of my nightmares. She settled for, “A store.”
The sound grumbling low in his throat could have been disapproval...or a threat. “Look closer. Describe it to me.”
Taking a deep breath, she brought her focus to the windows.
The wince was involuntary, a force of habit as she glimpsed the barely there bra-and-panty sets, the sheer teddies, the lace-only gowns. So she turned her attention to the framework—aged wrought iron in fancy curlicues decorating the windows as if they were paintings—
“Out loud,” Sloan said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice remained soft, but there was no mistaking the steel undertone. “Describe it to me, Ziara.”
Swallowing anger at his high-handedness, she said, “The windows remind me of pictures, feminine and delicate. The pink-and-brown decor is also feminine, like candy and chocolate,